Are You Screaming Cause it's Such a Nightmare Now?
by no-words-exist
Summary: Everyone assumes his insomnia is the result of the ADHD. He doesn't tell anyone, not even his father, that it's the nightmares.


Rating: T  
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale  
POV: Stiles  
Summary: Everyone assumes his insomnia is the result of the ADHD. He doesn't tell anyone, not even his father, that it's the nightmares.  
Disclaimer: Nightmares, insomnia, slash, canonical character death  
Authors Note: No beta for this. All the mistakes are my own. First Teen Wolf fic. Cross posted to livejournal. (no_words_exist . livejournal . com)

He doesn't talk about his mother often, and when he does, it's never about her death. The final moments of her life, burned into his memory. The only people who know the story of what happened are the doctors, Stiles, and his father. Not even Scott knows what really happened. He can't admit to his best friend what he did. He's ashamed. So ashamed of himself. It's his fault, and he knows it. He couldn't stand it if any more people knew.

People assume she died of some disease or another. He never bothers to correct them.

...

Everyone assumes his insomnia is the result of the ADHD. He doesn't tell anyone, not even his father, that it's the nightmares.

The light is too far away, and he'll never get there. He's being pulled down down down. Farther still he falls until the light is blocked out entirely.

Those dreams are bad, but most of the time they're slightly different. He isn't being pulled down, but he's going down after a dark shape. It's drifting away from him, and he knows he'll never get there in time. Hair billows up towards his out stretched hand, and sometimes, in the dream, he's close enough that the strands slip through his fingers. Rarely, he manages to grab ahold of the person, but when he turns back the way he came, it's too dark, and it's too cold, and the way out is gone.

...

Stiles has a weird relationship with water. He hates the stuff, he does. He doesn't like getting in it voluntarily. Even the shower makes him uneasy, especially if the water is cold. He shaved his hair off for a reason. The shorter amount of time he can spend in the shower, the better. But if he had to choose, drowning doesn't seem so bad. What he remembers of it, anyway. Because he does remember. Oh God, does he remember.

...

After Scott gets bit, it is always Scott, sinking down into the water. He knows this his subconscious guilt at being the reason Scott got turned. Sometimes, the alpha s red eyes gleam at him, dragging Scott farther down and out of his reach.

...

Life hates him. So much. He stands at the edge of the pool, and he's watching Derek sink to the bottom. Derek who is paralyzed. Derek who will be unable to swim and get himself out of the situation. Fuck it all, because as much as he hates water, he can't let Derek drown. So he dives in.

The water isn't cold like it is in all his nightmares, but it still feels like a punch to the chest. And it's like every dream he's ever had about trying to save his mom or Scott. Swimming not nearly as fast as he wants to and hoping to God he makes it in time. Only, he does make it in time, and he gets them both to the surface. He's never been so happy to hear Derek Hale bitch at him in his life. And isn't it just another kick to the crotch that the Kanima is afraid of water, too. The only reason they're still alive is because of the thing that haunts Stiles in his nightmares. His chest feels tight, constricting as the panic rises, but he locks it down. Matches his breathing to the heaving of Derek's back against his chest. It isn't much better, but he isn't hyperventilating, so he counts it as a plus.

That night, alone in the dark, it isn't his mother sinking down into the dark depths, and it isn't Scott either. It's Derek Hale, eyes gleaming red in the water.

...

The nightmares are worse after that. Sometimes it's Scott, sometimes it's Lydia, sometimes it's even Jackson or Danny or Erica or Isaac, but mostly it's Derek. Sometimes it's a miserable blend of his friends sinking and his father and mother flailing in the water below. But no matter who is drowning, or how many of them are, he knows that above him, waiting on the ice, is the Kanima. It's pacing around the hole they all fell through, waiting for someone to surface. And he's the only one who knows it. His friends, his mother, his father, look at him fearfully, pleading him to pull them to safety, but he knows. He -knows- they'll just be torn to shreds when they surface, so he has to choose: does he let them drown thinking he's not even going to try and save them, or does he pull them to the top and let them get ripped to pieces by a giant lizard? From what he remembers of drowning, the choice is easy enough to make. He closes his eyes and he doesn't fight. He just breathes in.

He goes days without sleeping just so he doesn't have to see the look of pure betrayal on the faces of the people he cares about.

...

When he hears the news about Matt, he's sorry. As comfortable as he is with drowning, because it's familiar, and it's what he deserves, he wouldn't wish it on anyone else. But maybe Matt got off easy, he rationalizes with himself. The peace of drowning definitely beats out being murdered by a Kanima or crushed by a Jeep.

...

Ms. Morrell asks him about the drowning the next time he goes back to see her.

"At our last session," she starts, "when you talked about drowning, it sounded like something you had experienced."

It isn't a question, but she's looking at him like she knows. And he cracks and shatters behind his masks of faux indifference. He can't tell her, he can't tell anyone, so he deflects.

"Did you know that extended shift of blood flow from peripheral circulation to central circulation can cause blood to leak out of the pulmonary capillaries into the alveoli? The fluid then gathers in the lungs. It's called pulmonary edema. If they can't get all the fluid out of your lungs, you die. You drown on dry land. Long exposure to extremely cold water can do that to a person. It's called swimming-induced pulmonary edema."

Ms. Morrell is watching him, looking more concerned with each word that comes out of his mouth.

"And of course the hypothermia probably doesn't help the blood volume thing being central. Sometimes, in severe cases of hypothermia, you don't even realize how cold you are. You're so numb everything feels normal. I think freezing to death wouldn't be so bad either. Eventually you stop feeling everything, and you don't even know that you're dying. Everything shuts down, and eventually, you just go to sleep. If I had to die, I'd want to freeze to death. Or drown. Either one. I don't want to die bloody."

She outright frowns at him then. "I know sometimes things seem bad, Stiles, but they will always get better."

He barks out a laugh. "You think I'm suicidal?"

She raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not a quitter. I never have been. I just think about that, sometimes. When I can't sleep. When the nightmares get too bad."

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.

"And why can't you sleep, Stiles? Why do you have nightmares?"

He leans towards her, a humorless smile on his lips. "You like quotes, Ms. Morrell? I have one for you: 'Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man conscious of guilt.' Plautus said that.

She considers him for a moment. "And do you feel guilty?"

He grins at her, leans back in the seat. "All the time."

...

In the week following Gerard Argent, he dreams only of Erica and Boyd sinking. Boyd a dark shape, face grim and resigned. Erica's blond curls float around her head, bright in the dim waters, like a siren's. He watches them disappear below, Boyd's glowing amber eyes and Erica's hair like the flickering flames of dying candles until they're finally snuffed out by the darkness of depth.

Stiles doesn't think he's ever been so tired. Sleeping scares him as much as water now, but no one notices the dark circles under his eyes. His father is always at the station. Scott is busy with Isaac and Allison. Lydia is busy with Jackson. Erica and Boyd are so withdrawn now, so tangled together in their silence, that Stiles wouldn't dare bother either of them with his problems. Not when Body is missing part of an ear and Erica has three furrowed scars running down her face, hairline to chin, left from their time with the Alpha pack. Alpha wounds sometimes don't heal completely. Who knew?

Derek comes to him for research constantly, rolling into his window in the early hours of the morning. Stiles is hardly ever asleep when Derek shows up.

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Derek asks gruffly one night.

Stiles spins to face him in the computer chair, eyes feeling strained and gritty from staring at his computer screen for such an extended period of time. He passes a critical eye over Derek, who is lounging on the bed. His jacket is off, hung on the back of the computer chair. His boots are sitting under the windowsill where he left them when he came in, socks stuffed inside. There's a book in his lap, ancient and dusty. His face looks thin, pinched around the mouth and eyes. The circles under his eyes could rival the ones Stiles is sporting.

"Are you?" Stiles counters, spinning back around to the computer without waiting for an answer. It wouldn't matter, because Derek doesn't give him one.

...

They're researching what could be behind the string of disappearances when Stiles notices Derek has dozed off where he's sitting propped up against the headboard. His mouth is parted slightly, chin touching his chest. Stiles watches him for a good fifteen minutes before he gets up and pads over to the bed. He shakes Derek awake gently.

"Dude, if you're too tired, just say so," Stiles whispers.

Derek looks around, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "Sorry. I'm good. We need to find out what this thing is."

Derek yawns in the middle of the sentence, refuting what he just said.

"How about this, you lay down, get some sleep, and I'll wake you if I find anything plausible."

Derek shakes his head. "You need to get sleep too."

"I'm fine man. I got like three hours two days ago. I'm good for the next week."

Derek is frowning at him, but he's still out of it enough that Stiles can move the book off his lap and push him down into a horizontal position on the bed. Derek doesn't argue, just rolls onto his stomach before he shoves his arms under Stiles's pillow with a sigh. He's asleep before Stiles even makes it back across the room to the computer desk.

...

It's a Friday, but Stiles is so tired he goes to bed right after dinner. The sheets smell like Derek. He shifts around until he's comfortable. He tries to think about something pleasant, focus his thoughts on something that isn't drowning.

He wakes up gasping for air, staring up at the ceiling hazily. Derek's face comes into focus.

"-iles. Stiles. It's alright. It's just a nightmare."

Derek thankfully doesn't asks him about the dream, just holds up the newest books he found like a peace offering.

Stiles gratefully grabs one, and begins shifting through it.

It's quite for a long time before Derek finally says something.

"Is that why you don't sleep? Nightmares?"

Stiles tenses. He looks up slowly from to book in his lap at Derek, sitting in the chair by the bed. He's thinking up the best way to deflect, the best believable half-truths, because admitting to the nightmares may lead to unwanted questions. Stiles knows that if Derek asks the right question, he'll spill everything. All the darkness he keeps holed up in himself, and Derek definitely has enough darkness to deal with without Stiles spilling his own out into the world. Derek is looking at him with a cautious vulnerability; a hesitance that says he isn't sure if this is how he's supposed to handle the situation but he's concerned enough to try.

Stiles cannot reward Derek's attempt at not only being a good Alpha, but a good friend, by lying. He just can't.

"Yeah. Most of the time."

Derek nods, something like sympathy and understanding in his eyes. Stiles thinks, of course. Of course Derek knows what that's like.

"If you ever want to talk about it... I'll listen," Derek offers, before he thankfully drops the subject and goes back to reading.

Stiles eliminates two other possibilities for what their monster of the week could be before he says, "Thanks."

...

Stiles doesn't realize until it's too late that they're not just hanging out when researching anymore. If he isn't at Derek's secret apartment, they're sitting pressed together on Stiles's bed, watching movies on the laptop.

Even Derek's wayward pack starts showing up in his room unannounced. Isaac folds himself into the most ridiculous positions in the computer chair, playing angry birds on Peter's laptop or he plays video games with Scott. Erica and Boyd play board games or card games together on the floor, sometimes an event that the entire pack gets in on. Sometimes they watch movies together down in the living room, greeting the sheriff pleasantly when he gets home from his shift. They even roll into his window when they can't find Derek, or when they just need advice or someone to talk to.

Somehow, when he wasn't paying attention, they actually became a pack.

When things came to a head with the alpha pack, Stiles finally had to come clean to his father. It felt good, not having to lie to him anymore. At first, his dad had been angry, and afraid, for him and of him and the pack, but he had come around. Now, the pack practically lives at the Stilinski house. The sheriff even gets wrangled into pack cuddles occasionally because he once let Erica curl up with him on the couch when Boyd was out of town visiting family. Everyone else took that as invitation.

Stiles hasn't seen his father look so content with life since before the lies. Maybe even since mom. He smiles. He twirls Erica around the kitchen while Stiles cooks. She'll laugh in delight, smiling like everything is right in the world, despite the scars on her face. He shows Isaac how to play poker, and pretends his poker face is impressive when it really, really isn't. (Even Stiles can tell when Isaac is bluffing, and he doesn't have fancy wolf powers.) He helps Boyd fix up the beater of a car the teen finds for cheap. He's always been like a father for Scott, and he accepts Allison into the fold no problem. He lets Lydia rearrange the furniture, and he tells Jackson as much as he can about his real parents.

The best part, Stiles thinks, is the full bottle of whiskey that stays full in the liquor cabinet. He thinks that maybe they are all fixing each other.

...

Derek drops off halfway through their Lord of the Rings marathon, which Stiles can hardly blame him for. Derek has flopped over so that his face is pressed into Stiles's neck, breath ghosting over the pulse point. Stiles is just impressed that he made it that far, especially when everyone else fell asleep before they had even finished Fellowship.

They're tangled together on the couch, Derek a comfortable weight pressing him down into the cushions. The rest of the pack is a heap on the blanket covered floor.

Typically, Derek and Stiles sit on the floor with everyone else, leaning against the couch. Isaac curls into Derek's other side, and Stiles gets a face full of blond curls courtesy of Erica as she sandwiches herself between Stiles and Boyd. Tonight though, Derek had looked more exhausted than Stiles recalls having seen in the past few months, so he had pulled Derek down on the couch with him. No one had said anything about it. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd just curled together against the couch, while Jackson and Lydia took the arm chair like always. Allison and Scott rolled themselves together into a blanket on the floor.

His father had passed through a couple of hours ago, on his way in for the graveyard shift. He'd waved at the gathering in the living room fondly as he ambled by, although at the time everyone had been upright and not so blatantly cuddling. His dad is understanding of the pack's need for physical contact, but Stiles doesn't think he could explain why he and Derek seem to be so comfortable with each other. He can't even explain it to himself.

The credits for Two Towers are rolling, and the house is quiet. Stiles can hear the pack's breathing, even and relaxing.

Now if only Stiles himself could get some sleep.

...

Derek is watching him when he thinks Stiles can't see, frowning in concern. Stiles is so tired he wants to cry, but the water is so cold and he can't watch anyone else drown.

"You can't keep this up," Derek tells him one afternoon when Stiles is so wired up on caffeine that his hands are shaking and his heart feels like it's about to gallop out of his chest.

"Do you think Erica wants a cake for her birthday?"

Derek growls in frustration, slams the front door on his way out of the house with enough force that Stiles is worried the wood splintered.

...

"I killed my family," Derek starts without any preamble when he turns up again three days later. Stiles hasn't seen him since. The pack had been tense, giving him looks of betrayal like it was his fault daddy wouldn't hang out with everyone anymore.

Stiles stares as Derek sits heavily on the bed that has been made since he did the laundry two nights ago.

"I was 16. I was so young, and stupid, and there was a pretty girl who told me she loved me. She didn't, but I did love her." Derek glances away, jaw clenched as he looks out the window at the setting sun.

"I told her what I was, what my family was. She had seemed so interested. She smiled at me like I was something amazing, and I was so glad someone was paying attention to me. My family was big, you know. I was easy to overlook. Quiet and well-behaved, old enough to take care of myself, unlike some of my younger siblings and cousins. There were a lot of people in that house when it burned to the ground." Derek looks small, as he hunches down into himself.

"If I hadn't told Kate what we were, my family would still be alive. My parents would still be alive. My sister would still be alive. It's a lot of guilt to live with, and I understand better than anyone having nightmares. I dream of fire. All the time. I dream about this pack burning now, and it isn't my house anymore, but yours. I'm standing outside, and everyone is screaming, but I can hear your voice clearest, because you're trying to get everyone out. You're shouting instructions and you're so calm. You burn up last, calling my name."

Derek finally looks at him. "Just being around the pack helps me. Isaac says being around the pack helps with his nightmares too, but you don't have the same senses we do. Smells won't make it better for you, and I don't know how to help, but I can't watch you like this anymore. Everything I read online says talking about it is supposed to help, but you won't talk to me. Lydia says something will give eventually, but damn it Stiles, I can't stand looking at the bags under your eyes.

"You hold the pack together. It's always been you, and I don't understand it because you don't even have to be here. You aren't a beta, but you stay anyway. And you take care of all of us, but no one takes care of you, and that isn't fair of us. You give us a safe place, and you feed us, and if you were a wolf, that would mean something. It does mean something, and without you the pack will fall apart. They need you. I need you. So tell me what to do Stiles. Tell me how to help."

It seems like the most natural thing in the world when he gets up and crosses the room to Derek. He doesn't even think about it as he smashes their mouths together desperately. Derek surges up into him with a low whine.

It's like everything he's ever wanted and needed can be found in the slick heat of Derek's mouth.

...

They make out for a long time. Stiles lips feel swollen and sensitive, and he has stubble burn all over his face and neck. He can only imagine the hickeys, but it's nice. They're both shirtless, but when Derek reaches for the button of his jeans, Stiles pulls away. Derek makes a noise, question and confusion. Stiles pillows his head on Derek's chest, settling a hand over his heart.

"You told me your horror story. It's my turn to tell you mine," Stiles explains. Derek s hand splays out possessively over the small of his back, and it's comforting.

"When I was nine, the lakes froze over," he starts in a whisper.

"The winter had been unusually cold. There was even snow that year. My mom liked to go on walks in the woods. She'd take me with her if I was out of school, show me different plants and animal tracks. It was my favorite thing to do, walk around in the woods with her. She would bundle me up in a coat and scarf and gloves and we went out walking. We went on a weekend trip to a cabin up just north of here, by a nature preserve. We'd been there every year since I can remember.

"It was pretty early on the second morning of our trip. Dad likes to sleep in, and he doesn't get to often, so mom let him sleep in that day. She took me out into the woods to explore. The lake had frozen over, which was fascinating to me. I'd never seen it like that. Mom started up a game of hide and seek. She gave me two rules: stay within shouting distance and stay off the ice. She explained that the ice was thin. Too thin to support a lot of weight."

I was hiding in some brush at the edge of the lake, when I saw this stray cat that liked to hang around our cabin. He was there every year we went, and the thing was really friendly. We called him Tom. He was pretty much my only other friend aside from Scott, and he was walking on the ice. I kept thinking about my mom saying that the ice was thin, and the stupid cat was going to fall through the ice. So I went after him. I got to him and managed to toss him back towards the shore before the ice cracked under me. I went under. My mom heard me scream and came running. She managed to get me out, but she fell in herself and there was no way I would be able to get her out. She told me to go get dad."

Derek is silent, moving his hand in soothing circles on Stiles's back.

"I ran back, soaking wet, and it was so cold. We had been pretty far away from the cabin, and if it hadn't been for the snow and our foot prints, I never would have made it back. I was crying so hard that it took me a good five minutes to explain to my dad what had happened once I woke him up. He got her out of the water, and we drove to the hospital. I was fine. My mom developed pulmonary edema, but they couldn't get all the fluid out of her lungs. And then, a couple of days later, pneumonia set in. It took her a few days to die."

Stiles turns his face into Derek's chest, tears burning his eyes.

"I dream about drowning. Trying to save people who are drowning because I couldn't save my mom. I killed her because I ignored the rules of our game. I killed her for a stupid stray cat I never saw again. It's always the pack now, drowning under the ice."

Derek doesn't tell him that it's not his fault, or tell him it'll be okay. He just pulls Stiles into him, and says, "I'm here. We'll get through it."

...

After college, the entire pack moves into the renovated Hale house. Stiles still has nightmares, but now when he wakes up in the middle of the night, Derek will pull him close and whisper, "Who?"

Stiles will tell him, and Derek will tell him that they're fine and tap out their heartbeat into his skin.

He'll relax and fall asleep again, Derek's heartbeat in his ear and the pack's a gentle rhythm against his shoulder.


End file.
